


Southernmost

by THHuxley



Category: Erebus: The Story of a Ship - Michael Palin, The Terror (TV 2018), The Thing (1982), The Voyage of Charles Darwin (TV 1978)
Genre: Anti-whaling commentary, Crossover, Crozier-centric, Extinct Dog, Fan Prequel, French Whaler Ocs, Fury Beach, Gen, Heroic age naval exploration, Historical Fantasy, Multi, Parental Captain Francis Crozier, Period Typical Attitudes, Seamonsters, South pole fic, The Bloop, botanic gardens, the thing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27403873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THHuxley/pseuds/THHuxley
Summary: Captains Ross and Crozier lead an expedition to the edge of the map to locate the Magnetic Southpole and encounter an ancient sea-monster unearthed from polar ice by a French whaling operation.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Sir James Clark Ross, Captain Francis Crozier/Thomas Jopson, Sophia Cracroft/Captain Francis Crozier
Kudos: 12





	1. The Harux Baleiniers

_After thirty feet the water stopped pushing him to the surface and started dragging him down to the sea floor._

_His body adapted to the conditions of the cold, blue dimension._

_His lungs allowed for the free flow of fluids, so they would not collapse._

_His brain waves slowed._

_His heart beats slowed._

_The Leviathan swam towards him._

_Then he thought he might be wrong._

_Was it the Leviathan, or but a whale?_

_A fellow warm-blooded creature of the sea, greeting him with a series of high-pitched, baffling ticks._

Antarctica, 1840.  
From _The Terror’s_ great room came the scratching sounds of Captain Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier’s ink quill as he recorded the new magnetic readings from his dip-circle.

He was seated at the great room table, under a dim oil lamp which had three Norse-style dolphins cast around its brass frame, and with all his lively magnetic, clockwork equipment laid out on the mahogany before him.

Feeling unusually cold today, he paused to observe the thermometer and grumbled bitterly to himself, “Fifty below freezing… so what? It’s fifty below every day.”

His immaculate, young servant slid the door open so gently it was barely audible and knocked three times on the frame.

There was always a dance of movement in the cabin when Mr Jopson was there. As soon as he had poured the tea out he started wiping dust from the shelves and table.

As Jopson cleaned he picked up each piece of equipment, device, trinket and stray book, wiped beneath it, and occasionally gave it a quick wipe if it was collecting powder.

The solarium, the sexton, the dip circle, the speculum, those gold and brass instruments were prettier than ornaments. Most captains would keep them in draws and most stewards would not dare touch them on account of their perceived fragility.

The lad, to Crozier he seemed little more than a lad though he was really over twenty, had curious, delicate hands and he never picked up the speculum without looking through it, despite there being nothing to see in the dark little cabin.

“That ice out there’s a real monster, sir.” Jopson remarked with a frightened grin, showing off his dimples and his fine, white teeth.

“Aye, that it is.” Crozier agreed nonchalantly, he’d been working for far too long and needed to stretch his legs.

“I always thought of it as just a minor hindrance to crops and ascending cobble stone streets in winter. I didn’t know it could be so alive and ferocious.”

Jopson watched his master walk to one of the numerous bookshelves and wondered why he’d not been required to fetch the book.

“What you’re used to isn’t _real ice_. Not like the formidable magic that guards the polar circles.” Professed Crozier; his hand hovered along the _‘D’_ row of author’s surnames until he was able to pick out _Sir Francis Drake’s journal_.

As the captain walked back to his seat with the tome in hand he continued, “No one can imagine a more unruly and destructive force of nature. It wanders ravenously in every direction, across the rocks and the water, with all its cruel, life sucking limbs stretched out. One touch from the monster peals skin and disintegrates limbs. Nothing stops it. And it can’t be taken advantage off.”

“Sir?"

“Hm?”

“What does disintegrate mean?”

“Crumble.”

“Oh.”

By now Jopson had stood up again and was clearing the table. He put the tray to one side near the door and brought his captain some whiskey.

“A bit more, if you please.” Crozier requested when Jopson tried to give him an ordinary double-tot.

The lad gave him a disapproving wince but obeyed quietly.

“Trying to explain to the crew what polar ice is like… I may as well be explaining fire to a man who has no comprehension of it, while handing him a box of matches.” Crozier paused to take a long sip from his crystal glass. “Sailing though a ring of flames would have been less fool hardy.” He muttered resentfully.

Jopson went to warm himself by the coal fireplace again and Crozier smiled at him and spoke up, “But you’re a good boy, you’ll keep yer hands and feet out of it.” He appraised.

“Oh, I will, sir. I’ll always do as you say.” Jopson assured him so readily that a blush came over both their faces.

Crozier swallowed the rest of his drink as quickly as he could.

“Away with thee, lad, if you clean this place any more thoroughly it’ll be as transparent as the glaciers outside.” Crozier snorted.

“Might I first impose to ask what this is, sir?” Jopson queried about a brass container shaped like a clam shell.

“It’s a snuff box.” Crozier answered as if it where the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s no good for your health, that sort of thing. Dr Robertson says it erodes the nasal passage.” Jopson tutted disapprovingly.

“I don’t partake, Jopson.” Crozier assured him, cracking a rare little thin-lipped smile. “It was almost empty when I found it, say for the odd little obsidian sphere. Look inside, I don’t mind.” He offered with false indifference.

Jopson opened the box and wondered at the black spere with specks of dark blue and purple in it.

“It’s volcanic glass, I found it in Australia.” Explained the Captain, “Mr Hooker says it must have been exceedingly difficult to fashion a marble out of it. It projected the most curious patterns when a beam of light was shone through it.”

Jopson carefully returned the orb to the brass shell and clipped the container shut. He placed it back on the shelf.

“Is there anything else you require, sir?” Jopson offered gently.

Crozier had not expected this, he thought he had been winning the lads attention for a moment and was surprised Jopson had no further questions and simply wanted to be dismissed.

Well, Crozier had technically dismissed him before he enquired about the brass clam, the boy had probably remembered his place.

“No, it’s fine. You may go.” Crozier bade dryly.

The mysterious traveller from Tierra del Fuego paddled her little yakenen canoe as fast as she could through a network of narrow ice channels, perspiring into the thick black dog-fur cloak, which was her only item of clothing. The Yaghan woman was ferrying both a tame pushaki flame and a small, grey, Patagonian hunting dog.

She was pursued by two French whalers, baleiniers, in a rowboat. Both were gaunt with starvation, their faces hidden by unkept beards. One man paddled while the other took deliberate shots at the girl, they were hunting her.

Her frightened black eyes lingered on the sight of ships masts poking out above the snow-capped ramparts of the Antarctic labyrinth; upon recognising the banner that fluttered from the top of this tree-like structure she knew her best chance of escape lay with those fortresses.

After speeding around the sharp bend of an ice cliff she was able to see the two ships anchored safely in snowy harbour, it had been at least six years since she had seen such enormous ships.

When the younger, blond haired baleinier who was doing the shooting ran out of bullets he angrily tossed his gun aside and pulled a stick of dynamite from one of the many supply boxes behind him.

He struck a match to light the red wax cylinder and tossed it, so it landed in the little canoe.

When she saw that this deadly object had just missed the pushaki, but was rolling towards it inevitably, she leapt into the freezing water, pulling the dog along with her. This was just in time to escape the explosion that hence ignited their little canoe.

She released her pet to let him paddle independently and they both swam through the Icey water, towards the ships.

The Yaghan plunged her stone axe into the side of the ship with a thud and pulled herself up with it. Once she was stood on top of the axe she could just make the jump to grab hold of a rope above her and continue her desperate ascent, much to the amazement of the onlooking crewmen.

“Catch her, don’t let her get away!” seemed to be the unanimous decision as some of the sailors wrestled her out of the rigging onto the deck, where they tried to restrain her.

The elder baleinier would stop at nothing to kill the Yaghan, in his rage he flung an entire crate of lit explosives at the ship but had not the strength to through them far and high enough. The box bounced back and blew up the rowboat.

“Merde!” The younger Frenchman shouted as he too leapt into the icy water. He stared weepily at the burning wreckage.

“Throw that man a line!” shouted first Lieutenant McMurdo.

The baleinier scrambled aboard, he was crying and shivering with cold. McMurdo commanded two seamen to help him stand.

The men restraining the Yaghan girl were disbanded when McMurdo thundered,

“Get your hands off her now!”

The other sailors immediately stepped away from her and flung her in McMurdo’s direction. She fainted from exhaustion in his arms.

“Jesus Christ, someone bring a surgeon!” he shouted.

Crozier rushed on deck, hoping to find the cause of the blasting and shouting. Moisture immediately formed little icicles on his eyebrows and sideburns and as his sinuses froze in seconds, he heard his nasal mucus membrane crackle.

Jopson ran up behind Crozier to help him into his coat and pass him his spy glass.

As soon as his hands were free the Patagonian dog tried to jump up at him and wagged its tail excitedly.

“Oh, hello, where did you come from?” Jopson asked softly as he knelt to pet the canine’s fluffy coat.

“What caused all the gunshots and explosions I heard just now?” Crozier stressed.

“Sergeant Cunningham, what do you report!?” Crozier snapped.

“She was chased here by two Frenchies, sir, whalers by the looks of them. One of the fellas blew himself up and the other’s in poor shape.” Cunningham proclaimed.

The surviving baleinier stole Cunningham’s rifle in a swift motion and climbed the rigging so he couldn’t be snuck up on from behind. He aimed the rifle at the girl in McMurdo’s arms. Crozier stepped in front of the Frenchman’s target and gave him a stern scowl.

A spool of fearful, Frankish yelling gushed from his mouth, “Ce n'est pas une fille… C'est une sorte de ... chose! Un terrible monstre! Reculez idiot!” His voice was shaky and low at first but grew into urgent, terrified shouting.

“Calmez-vous…” Crozier began and attempt to calm the situation but the frightened young baleinier shouted over him,

“Revenir!” he fired a warning shot into the wood of the deck near Crozier’s feet.

Crozier was unfazed by this assault, his crewmen watched him worriedly; with wide eyes, clenched fists and grinding teeth.

“Tue le!” The baleinier begged and aimed right at Crozier’s head this time.

There was a load snap of gunpowder as a bullet smashed through the baleinier’s eye socket. He collapsed like a lifeless doll, his foot tangled in the rigging and kept him suspended.

Everyone turned their shocked faces towards Sergeant Cunningham, who held a smoking pistol in both hands. Cunningham still had a look of fury on his face when Crozier’s eyes hit him, but it melted into concern when he caught sight of Lieutenant McMurdo.

“Bother me, Cunningham! You’ve killed a Frenchman without orders, during peacetime!” McMurdo scalded him with Scottish ferociousness.

“Sir! I just saved Captain Crozier’s life!” Cunningham was so taken back by the red-faced rage of his superior that his attempted rebuttal came out as a near squeak.

“There’s no excuses here bucko! You’re supposed to be officer class!” McMurdo hissed darkly, his eyes were wide and wild, forcing Cunningham to reconcile the irreversible nature of his mistake.

Cunningham gulped, and his guilt-stricken face turned towards Captain Crozier.

“You’re clear, Sergeant Cunningham.” Crozier assured him seriously.

The sergeant huffed a sigh of relief and unlocked his gun before returning it to his coat pocket.

McMurdro was begrudgingly pacified, he gave the sergeant another glare before turning his simmering anger on Doctor Robertson, who had just arrived at the scene.

“Come ‘ed and take this lass from me.” He practically threw the Yaghan at Robertson, who attempted to catch and hold her unsteadily, as if she were a giant, wriggling fish. “What are you doing, Doctor? Your hands are all over the place like an octopus trying to undo a corset. Escort ‘er down to sick bay and get ‘er warmed up.”

Not a fan of McMurdo’s manner, the doctor gave him a quiet glare before escorting the Yaghan below.

“Right.” Crozier addressed McMurdo with tense exhaustion but with authority non the less, “Have Dr Layal keep an eye on the Fuegian and tell Dr Robertson to inspect the baleineir. To make a full record we shall need to know who these people are and where they came from. We will also need to fish what we can out of the water.”

“Aye Sir.” McMurdo saluted and went on ordering the crew accordingly.

“Mr Davis!” Captain Crozier called out to the second master, who was footling in the lower rigging, starboard side. “Signal The Erebus. We need to report this mess.”

Elsewhere.  
Captain James Clark Ross and Mr Joseph Dalton Hooker were taking the air on Erebus’s quarterdeck.

“Take a look at this, Joseph.” Captain Ross requested eagerly and offered his spy glass to the young botanist. He instructed Hooker to look through the glass to the spot he had been examining where the ice broke into open water.

“Do you see it? A pack of Seawolves are chasing that poor seal and her two pups. It looks like she’s risking her own life for their sakes.” Ross narrated.

“Seawolves, Captain?”

“Killer whales, Joseph. They hunt a seal with the exact same stratagem a wolf pack would apply to hunting a deer.”

“Fascinating. Did you know there have been proposals in recent taxonomy research suggesting wolves and whales may in fact be more closely _allied_ than is widely believed?” Hooker questioned as he bared witness to the rising and sinking of the predators’ dorsal fins in the milky slush.

“I can believe that.” Ross chuckled.

“Terror is signalling, Sir Ross!” called a man from above, making Ross snap his head round in the direction of Erebus’s sister ship.

“Francis requests my presence aboard Terror.” Ross observed keenly.

Hooker lowered the glass from his eye, grinned at Captain Ross and humoured, “Perhaps all future officers’ meetings should be held aboard The Terror; Take the mountain to Mohammed.”

Later.  
Terror’s great room was illuminated by the pale rays of dazzling Antarctic summer streaming through the stern windows. Captains Ross and Crozier exchanged reports over the great room table. Mr Hooker had been invited to join them, as he was almost always by Captain Ross’s side, for his Education. He sat quietly in the corner studying a progressing chart of botanic illustrations but paid close attention to the Captains conversations.

“It looks like they’ve come from a French Whaling Station called Harux, roughly six miles due east from here.” Crozier informed, in reference the blood-spattered map found in the dead French boy’s coat pocket. He showed Ross the jotted down co-ordinates.

“I hardly expected to encounter anyone this far out. This is terra incognito.” Ross responded thoughtfully; he tapped his fingers against his bottom lip.

Jopson entered the cabin quietly and gave everyone tea for which they all politely thanked him.

“Well, I suppose we’d better put together a team to go and investigate the whaling station, perhaps they can explain what drove these two Frenchmen to such madness and where this Fuegian lass came from. She is worth questioning also. I can speak Yaghan most well; I’ll have her brought back to Erebus with us.” Ross decided.

“I nominate sergeant Cunningham for the mission to Harux. Since he practically felled both Frenchmen himself, he may have to take responsibility for that.” The Ulsterman proposed, and his friend, the Scottish aristocrat, nodded at him. “One of us captains should stay behind I suppose. Maybe we should draw lots?” Crozier suggested with a smile.

“Now Francis,” Ross grinned and winked, “I know you’re just as curious to see Harux as I am, I won’t deny you. We’ll leave McMurdo and Bird in charge of the ships.”

Crozier smiled warmly at Ross.

“May I come along, Captains?” Asked Hooker.

“Certainly, Joseph.” Ross confirmed with a cheerful nod.

“Jopson, my coat.” Crozier called as he stood up.

The lad unhooked it from the wall and helped Crozier into it. Crozier noticed a twinge of worry in the lads brow.

“Don’t look so disheartened, Jopson, I assure you we’re not at war with France.” Crozier encouraged warmly.

Jopson implored in return a quiet and slightly breathless, “Aye Sir. Take care of yourself.”

As the four explorers neared the French whaling station, they discovered that the column of blue smoke they had seen bellowing from its ruins was not the fume from burning whale fat they had presumed it to be. It was omitting from a pile of charred corpses.

They approached the bodies slowly and stared.

“Oh, what a lovely way to start winter.” Cunningham snarled sarcastically.

“What is that? A mass grave? How many men do you think are in there, Joseph?” Ross questioned.

Hooker shook with horror and averted his eyes from the carnage as he spoke, “I can’t say, Captain.”

“How many men should have been at this station?” Ross asked, turning to Crozier this time.

Crozier shook his head and replied vaguely, not taking his eyes of the remains, “You can’t really sustain a whaling operation out here without ten or twenty men at least, so these corpses surely don’t account for half of them.”

“The Frenchies we encountered back at the boats could have done a lot of damage to their own before getting to us.” Cunningham speculated.

“You think they did this to each other, sergeant? What could have maddened them so?” asked Hooker.

“Tell you what! This place could!” Cunningham jeered darkly and kicked the snow at his feet frustratedly.

“Come along, Sergeant Cunningham, let’s have a look in the cabin.” Ross announced and gestured for Cunningham should follow him.

“Aye sir.” Cunningham replied, with his rifle loaded and held defensively he cautiously accompanied Ross.

“Watch yourselves, who or whatever did this might still be here.” Crozier cautioned.

“Please allow me to open it for you, Captain Ross.” Cunningham offered.

Ross nodded seriously and let the Sergeant proceed to cautiously open the door, the men stared into the pitch-black interior for a while, nothing stared.

“Salut! Personne ici?” Ross called.

No reply.

Crozier unhooked the oil lamp that hung from his waist-belt, set it alight and weaved between his companions to overtake and lead them inwards.

They paused when the lamplight caught a great hole in one of the interior walls. Cunningham advanced into the hole and poked at the splintered wood of its mouth with a mittened hand. The sound of shattered glass crunched beneath his feet.

Hooker heard paper scrunching beneath his boots and looked down to find a pile of scientific documents which he gathered up in a hurry.

Crozier and Ross explored the narrow corridor that spiraled into the room Cunningham had climbed into.

The two captains startled silently at an axe stuck in the wall, surrounded by a great, human sized splatter of blood. Crozier’s attention fell on what looked like a large, severed tentacle lying in the pool of blood. He brought his lamp closer.

When Hooker screamed like he’d encountered the very predator that limb may have belonged to, the others came rushing to his aid.

They were relieved to find Hooker unharmed, he had merely been shocked by what he found in that room.

That part of the cabin had a gaping hole in the roof that let some of the great white nothing from outside.

In a chair, the last of the Harux baleiniers was perched. Frozen solid, with thin, red icicles hanging from his chin and nose, where blood had trickled from every orifice. What was left of his eyes was a frozen stream pouring from the sockets and his mouth was gaping in a brutal scream shape. There was something stranger about this body than just that… it looked as if the man were falling to pieces, parts of his face, hands and feet, appeared to be morphing into a great amalgamation of sea creatures. One of the man’s lower legs was missing, yet near the frozen, bloody stump was a toppled over boot, filled with frozen fish, molluscs and prawns.

“What the hell happened here?” Cunningham snarled frustratedly under his breath.


	2. The Royal Botanic Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Clark Ross and Francis Crozier meet with Joseph Dalton Hooker and some other important Victorian Botanists at Kew Gardens.

It was a wet and windy morning in 1839, James Ross and Francis Crozier were travelling by horse and carriage from Uxbridge to Richmond Lock, in London.

As they neared their destination, James happily observed, “Look there, Francis, you can see King George’s observatory from here.” He leaned his shoulder against Francis’s for a better view out of the left side window.

Francis turned his head sharply so as not to miss the monument. He silently regarding the large black dome poking out over the trees.

“I want to see inside it.” Francis declared with determination. “Might we visit it on our way to the Temperate house?”

“That would be too much of a detour, I’m afraid. We do not desire to miss Professor Henslowe’s lecture now, do we? I’m sure we’ll find the time at some point.”

Francis heaved a disappointed sigh; they would remain in the United Kingdom for less than a month now and their schedules were already fully booked.

“I presume _some point_ means five or six years from now.”

“It can’t hurt to plan ahead.” James chuckled optimistically.

Francis stared out of his rain-specked window at the iceberg-like storm clouds and quietly whished the old couple sharing their hired carriage would get off at the soonest possible opportunity.

He wished he and James could have gone by train, although a train carriage is shared with even more strangers, it is somewhat easier to have a private discussion. But James did not want to walk from his lodgings to the station in the rain. Francis refused to wield an umbrella and James was keeping him from catching a cold.

The downpour grew heavier and smudged the misty grey landscape in Francis’s window beyond recognition. He sighed that his only entertainment was now gone. He looked and James, grinning foolishly at the strangers in their bumpy little coach.

The old man and woman sat opposite were dressed in black; they looked as if they had just returned from a funeral.

The old man’s sour features softened slightly, and he asked, “Aren’t you Captain Ross?”

“I think you might have me mixed up with someone else, sir. My name is _Clark_.” James apologized softly.

“Oh… I’m sorry, sir.” The old man sounded disappointed.

“It’s quite alright.”

Francis quirked a confused eyebrow at James, James just smiled at him and shrugged.

When James and Francis finally had the carriage to themselves James was the first to speak, and he did so in a low volume.

“Sorry Francis, I didn’t expect we’d be sharing the carriage with strangers.”

“I did expect it.” Francis huffed.

“You didn’t have the opportunity to finish telling me about George Byng’s recommended boy and how the matter led to a quarrel. Please continue where you left off.”

“Ah, never mind that… why did you tell those people you weren’t yourself?”

“Imagine if I had revealed my true name to them, I might have spent the last half an hour bragging about my brushes with death. Neither of us would have enjoyed that.” James chuckled.

“You’re famous. You deserve no less and you should enjoy it.” Francis humbly encouraged.

“My uncle is also famous; I really must do something about having the same name as him…” James shuddered before snapping onto a different topic, “Your brawl with Captain Byng is not a matter to _never mind_ my dear Francis! You must tell me what it was all about!” he enthused.

“A half-rats scuffle in a tavern, nothing serious.” Francis grumbled shyly.

“He gave you a black eye, Francis.” James emphasized.

“Well, it’s vanished altogether, along with my feelings... I think I broke his nose.” Francis recalled with a hint of humour.

“All over some joking remark he made about this boy? Whom you’ve never met?”

“Byng recommended the lad to be my personal steward on this next expedition, but he made remarks implying both myself and the boy were of unsatisfactory and unsavoury character.”

“Then he got what he deserved.” Approved James.

“My curiosity was not beset however.” Francis added.

“You accepted the recommendation?” James raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“The first time Byng recommended this Mr Jopson, to me, he was gushing with compliments. But I think the boy must have done something to lose Byng’s favour shortly afterwards. I had already arranged to meet Mr Jopson that evening in order to give him a tour of _Terror_ and see for myself what he was like. I discovered he was a delightful choice. I hope to see him again this afternoon.”

“This afternoon? Have you become attached so quickly old boy?” James questioned playfully. 

Ross and Crozier hurried into the giant greenhouse of tropical plants, snapping close the white-framed doors behind them, they caught their breaths.

They had just raced across the wide, winding gravel paths of Kew Gardens and into the shelter of the Temperate House, trying to minimize their contact with the elements because the waterproof beeswax covering on their coats had a limited effectiveness in such a heavy downfall.

Crozier shook some droplets from his short, golden hair and dabbed his dampened sideburns with a dry kerchief.

Ross’s longish, dark red hair was tied back in a little plait but now they were sheltered he felt confident in undoing it and showing off the tick stiffness of his colourful mane.

Both men quickly shed their waterproofs and overcoats, the air inside the greenhouse was as hot and humid, scented with foreign nectar and pollen.

“Goodness me, it’s like the amazon rainforest in here!” Crozier gasped in surprise and loosened his cravat.

“But without the mosquitos!” Ross highlighted.

They took a moment to observe the interior of the great glass house, held up by a delicate, white skeletal frame, the transparent surface continued to be drummed by the gale outside. 

It was quiet, say for the barely audible buzz of a tiny bumble bee population and the intellectual murmuring of botanists omitting from behind a canopy of long, dark, waxen leaves.

“Isn’t this magnificent!” Ross rejoiced.

“This heat’s really going to get to me.” Crozier cautioned, trying not to appear as impressed as he was. Ross snickered faintly and lead the way deeper into the miniature jungle.

A large butterfly caught Crozier’s attention to anything else but getting a closer look waned until he felt Ross tugging lightly on the fabric of his sleeve.

“You’re so easily distracted, Francis.”

“Good day professors!” James called out, capturing both Sir William Jackson Hooker and Professor Henslow’s attentions.

Sir William regarded both sailors with hard, grey eyes behind circular, rimless glasses and a long, dark beard.

Professor Henslow was a small, thin, middle aged man with messy, curly greying-blond hair and a more sociable disposition than his older, taller companion.

His daughter was sat no more than five feet away; Miss F. H Henslow remained glued to her studies, contained within the book on her lap. Though she did raise her hand and mutter “How do you do.” in acknowledgment. She was only fourteen but already assisting her farther in his seminars, she had dark brown hair in a black bonnet and a round, freckled face that looked like it did an awful lot of serious thinking all day long despite still belonging to a child.

“Captain Ross, how nice to see you again. What brings you here?” Professor Henslow questioned warmly.

“My friend Commander Crozier and I had hoped to catch some of your lectures. We need a refresher in botany for my journey to furthest south.” Ross confessed.

“Nice to meet you Commander Crozier.” Henslow chirped and offered to shake Croziers hand.

Crozier politely complied. “You too.”

“I try to familiarize myself with as many explorers and members of the Royal society as possible. I have been a ship’s naturalist in my youth. Most valuable experience I ever had.” Professor Henslow enthused.

“That’s good… would you consider it again?” Crozier asked.

“Oh, I often do consider it! But things are so unpredictable nowadays... You might have heard I made plans to sail around South America with Captain Fitzroy, but my wife took ill, so my friend, Mr. Darwin went in my stead.” Henslow explained with a hint of regret.

“Also known as, _The man who walks with Henslow_.” Miss Henslow proudly elaborated on the identity of said elusive naturalist.

“I’m a little behind on the news.” Crozier admitted shyly.

Professor Henslow turned to Sir William while gesturing to Ross. “Sir William, have you been properly introduced to the nephew of Sir John Ross?”

Crozier didn’t miss his friend’s unmistakable eye-roll at the mention of his uncle.

Sir William’s eyes lingered on Captain Ross’s face and he spoke in a slow, controlled manner that omitted an aversion to human contact quite common amongst the most studious lords of the day, “No. But I’ve heard a great deal about both of you.”

“All good things I hope, Sir William.” Ross beamed.

Sir William did not offer to shake anyone’s hand, a symptom of his hermetic lifestyle, but it did not bother the Sailors.

“My son, Joseph, has spoken a great deal of you in the past week. He is overly excited about joining you on your next expedition.” revealed Sir William.

“As he should be.” Henslow reinforced with a grin. “Such a great opportunity for so young a lad.”

“My Joseph… can be delicate and clumsy. Please take good care of him.” Sir William pressed worriedly.

“Never fear, sir, he shall be by myside at all times.” Ross declared proudly.

“At furthest south I fear… lurk unknown horrors surely on par with those of the far north.” Sir William predicted grimly. 

“Before Professor Henslow and His Daughter commence the Seminar, might your son be readily available for conference, Sir William?” asked Ross.

“This way.” Sir William lead them down one of the narrow paths.

Joseph Dalton Hooker was arched over a bed of young tropical plants, carefully inspecting a plumeria through his magnifying glass.

“What are you up to, Joseph?” Ross asked, squatting down beside the young botanist to share in his observations.

“The Frangipani were taking badly to the soil in in our garden, so I altered the potential for hydrogen and now they’re coming through marvelously.” Hooker informed Ross happily, but without tearing his eyes away from his sample collecting.

“Ah, how did you alter it?” Ross queried.

“I boiled it and added sulphur. These are flora Pacifica, native to Oahu. The soil of the pacific islands is more volcanic and sulphuric. It’s also possible English mold spores were hindering the Frangipani’s growth and with the soil being partially sterilized like it is now, it should prevent the fungal spores from taking root.”

“Does the humid house often fall prey to unwanted mold and fungi?”

“There’s a danger of them becoming more prevalent during autumn because of the increased humidity and reduction of light but we’re always vigilant and take precautionary measures.” Hooker assured Ross.

“Of course.” Ross nodded and stood up.

“Mr. Joseph Dalton Hooker, can I ask you sir, might your middle name have been chosen in honor John Dalton? The man who re-introduced the atom theory in the year 1800?” Crozier queried.

“It was, indeed, sir.” Hooker said with a polite nod.

“I hope you live up to his example as a philosopher.” Crozier complimented, secretly glad that Hooker was to attend Erebus and so there would be no philosophers aboard Terror to challenge him.

“So do I.” the young botanist glowed.

“Might I ask you… do you think more green houses like this could be built around the country to make tropical fruits more readily available for more people all year round?” Crozier asked with a bit of nervous hesitation. “…It would not only help to make food cheaper, the construction and maintenance of such additional houses would make jobs too. We still have a lot of homeless ex-sailors and ex-soldiers on the streets today.” He reasoned.

“I think that’s a very good idea.” Hooker agreed.

“The country is jampacked as it is, let nature take its course.” Sir William dismissed rather harshly.

“Not everyone dislikes people as much as you do, father.” Hooker laughed lightly.

“In an ideal world there would be fewer people and more trees.” Sir William insisted.

“Well the world would be more beautiful then, I admit.” Hooker laughed and shrugged.

“Where would you have these additional temperate houses placed, Commander Crozier? Are we to intrude on the fields of cattle farmers or cut down native woodland?” Miss Henslow questioned with well-meaning impartiality.

“A farmer would surely make more money per-acre selling chilies and chocolates than beef and leather.” Crozier pointed out.

“Do you have any fruiting central American plants?” Ross asked Hooker, “Chilies and Coca and what not?”

Hooker stood up and put his magnifying glass in his pocket. “We do. Shall I escort you to them?”

“Please do, I haven’t seen them on their actual stalks before.” Ross said.

The Ross and the botanists moved on through the gardens, but Crozier was looking the opposite way and neglected to follow them. A familiar face had caught his attention.

Thomas Jopson had arrived.

He candidly observed the raven-haired boy through the dark leaves.

The poor lad made several polite attempts ask well-dressed ladies observing the botany for directions and what time it may be, but they had stuck their noses in the air and walked with silent indifference away from the lower-class boy.

This lost youth had clearly made a great effort to appear presentable and neat, but his clothes were worn and plain, though he was doing his best his accent was not totally obscured.

No one wanted to look at or acknowledge him.

Bewildered and embarrassed, Jopson wondered deeper into the temperate gardens.

“Won’t you join us, Francis?” Ross asked.

“Oh, I’d rather just have a look around. If that’s alright.” Francis excused with a nervous smile.

The others nodded at him.

“Alright.” Said Ross.

Crozier had intended to catch up with Jopson but found himself following the sure-footed lad up a winding, metal staircase and into a higher level of the glass house.

He stalked the unwitting lad through the foliage like a jaguar.

When Jopson realized he was being followed he jumped in surprise.

Jopson grinned nervously at Crozier.

“Anything I can do for you, captain?” he offered shyly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just think it's neat that all these famous explorers and scientists knew each other. JDH ended up marrying Henslowe's daughter and she also went on to be an important professor at Cambridge, and their kids were all pretty smart and successful too. I wanted to write a chapter that juxtaposes the humans in a lush, tropical, artificial environment which they have total control over, versus the unpredictable wildernesses of the poles. This is the chronological beginning of Crozier's journey to the South Pole.


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